


even if your heart has been shattered

by cinderlily



Category: Crooked Media RPF
Genre: Amnesia, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-07-03 05:13:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15812109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinderlily/pseuds/cinderlily
Summary: Jon got the emergency call.Lovett was in an accident, and even though they hadn't really talked in weeks he was in his car in two minutes flat.





	even if your heart has been shattered

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anatomical_heart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anatomical_heart/gifts).



> Written at the request of anatomical_heart, a lovely human who then proceeded to beta and hold my hand through most of the process. Give them love, seriously. They are awesome. <3

Jon got the emergency call.

It had been two weeks since Lovett had moved out of their--his house. He hadn’t even had time to find a place to rent so of course he hadn’t updated his In Case of Emergency. Even still it caught him off guard to find his cell ringing and Lovett’s face on the screen. He considered not answering it. Then Pundit lifted her head off of where she’d been curled up against Jon’s side, she had been staying with him while Lovett was in a hotel and so much more needy as of late. Not that he blamed her. 

“What’s up?” 

He barely got the word ‘up’ out of his mouth before a female voice he was unfamiliar with interrupted him. “Excuse me, is this ‘ _Favs_ ’?” 

“Yes,” Jon felt his skin prickle with a weird sense of foreboding. 

“My name is Claire, I am an EMT, you are listed as the in case of emergency for Jonathan Lovett?” 

Everything went blurry, the room tilted and righted itself too fast. Somehow he was standing with two annoyed looking dogs at his feet.

“Sir?” 

He licked his lips. “Yes, yes. I am.” 

The thought that if Lovett were conscious he would have told them to call Tommy, or Elijah or literally ANYONE but him was like a punch to the solar plexus. 

“Your friend has been in a car accident, he is unconscious and being taken to Cedar Sinai. Can you meet us there? We’ll need to have information about him.” 

“Are you…” He lost track of the question. “Is he … alive?” 

She let out a noise that he could only guess was annoyance. “He is alive, but he got hit pretty bad. Don’t speed. We only need one accident tonight.” 

Jon would have laughed at the absolute inappropriateness of what she said but she’d hung up and he was standing in his living room in his boxers and with two annoyed dogs and no idea what to do. Lovett was in a car accident. Lovett was hurt. Jon needed to get to Lovett. That was all he could hold on to. 

* 

In the car, he used the BlueTooth to call Tommy, and then Lovett’s parents. His mom answered the phone, gotten halfway through what Jon needed to say before she handed the phone to his dad as she couldn’t hear anything else through her tears. Jon went through what he’d just said again and promised to keep them informed. No one mentioned the elephant through the phone line. 

He got to Cedar Sinai and parked in the little lot outside the Emergency entrance. It said he had three hours. He was prepared to be towed. 

The very nice and forgiving nurse at the check-in station waded through his inability to talk calmly and figured out what he was asking for. He was told that Lovett was in ICU triage and that he couldn’t be allowed in while they were doing initial intake but he could go to the ICU waiting room. She even walked him to the door. He must really have looked incapable if he wasn’t able to follow basic instructions. 

Then he waited. And waited. And waited. He wasn’t sure how long, as time seemed to have a weird flux in the tiny white-walled room. He would look at the clock, swearing it had been an hour, only to find it having been five minutes. Then he swore it was three seconds later and it was instead 30 minutes later and Tommy was walking in, looking ashen and sweaty, holding two cups of coffee. 

“Have you heard anything?” he asked. 

Jon shook his head. “I don’t even know if the doctors know I’m here.” 

He fidgeted with his cup of coffee. He inhaled and exhaled and put the cup to his lips but forgot to drink. Distantly he got that this was shock. He’d been in shock before. But it was like his brain had detached completely from his body. Up was down and every thing was too bright. 

“He’s going to be fine,” Tommy said. “It’s Lovett. He is indestructible. In an hour we’ll be in his room and he’ll be complaining about the pillows.” 

Jon let out a hollow laugh. “ _You’ll_ be in his room.” 

Tommy made a sour face. “You don’t think he’ll want to see you?” 

“What do you think?” he side-eyed Tommy, who swallowed hard and rubbed at his legs awkwardly. He wasn’t built for the comfort part of conversations, and Jon respected that. Tommy was clutch in the moment if you needed beer and talking _around_ what needed to be talked about. 

They’d done that a lot the last two weeks. 

Tommy was saved further discussion when a tall, slender, dark-haired woman walked in wearing a lab coat over blue scrubs, looking blessedly optimistic. Or at least not like she was going to tell them something too horrible.

“Mr. Favreau?” 

Jon stood up. Tommy stood up a moment later. It felt, almost, like they were in a bad dream or possibly a bad rerun of a medical show. He couldn’t quite convince himself this was real. 

“That’s him,” Tommy said because he couldn’t yet. 

“I’m Jon,” he said, and instantly regretted it. Not the time. “How is Lovett?” 

The woman gave a small nod. “Hi, I’m Dr. Abby Ramirez, I am the attending. Mr. Lovett came in unconscious, he is still in-and-out. We think he might have a concussion. He also has a broken clavicle and left femur. To be honest, he’s pretty lucky. He doesn’t seem to have any internal bleeding, and the few times he’s been lucid he’s been aware of his surroundings.” 

“When can we see him?” Tommy asked. 

Dr. Ramirez pursed her lips. “We would probably want to restrict it to family only. He’s been asking for Mr. Fav— _Jon_. It would make the most sense to limit it to that for the evening.” 

Jon wasn’t aware he had swayed until Tommy placed a hand on his lower back. “You okay there?” 

“He’s …asking for …me?” Jon stumbled out. 

“Yes,” Dr. Ramirez said, looking a little confused. “You are his fiancé, correct?” 

Jon’s eyes jerked to Tommy whose facial features were slightly more pink than usual. He debated just saying yes, accepting the blessing and going in. He thought for a second that maybe it might be Lovett’s way of taking him back. But none of that seemed to be a reasonable response so he licked his lips. 

“Uh, we might have a problem.” 

* 

Another painfully long half hour later, Jon found himself staring at Dr. Ramirez again. He hadn't been let back to see Lovett yet. Instead, she had turned on her heel as soon as she heard that they had broken it off two weeks prior and was off before either Tommy or Jon could ask an actual question. 

When she returned, she looked a little concerned, which definitely fed into the anxiety that had been building over the last thirty minutes. She asked him to follow her and he did, leaving Tommy in his wake. She pulled him into an office off to the side of the hallway and sat him down. 

“He has short-term memory loss,” she said, though it didn’t need to be said. “From what I can get from him, the last thing he can remember was a barbeque at your friend Tommy’s house.” 

Two weeks and one day before. Jon bit his lip. It was turning more and more surreal by the moment. 

“He can’t remember anything after the barbeque, he thought the accident had been on the way home from it.” 

Jon remembered the plentiful glasses of wine that Lovett had imbibed that afternoon. They’d called an Uber, leaving the car in the small cul-de-sac near the Vietors’ place. The next morning, or more like late morning, was when the fight had started. He’d ended up having to go get the car back by himself while Lovett packed a bag to go to a hotel. 

Dr. Ramirez looked at him. He had missed the social cue again. “That was the day before the breakup.” 

“Okay,” she exhaled. “We have a few courses of action here. Right now, tonight, I would advise not telling him anything. He is under too much stress, we don’t know what could raise his blood pressure or his heart rate. Either would be detrimental to his recovery. But we can broach the subject tomorrow if you would like.” 

She paused and looked at him. “We could also see if it comes back to him naturally. He will be in the hospital at least three or four days and he’s been through trauma, sometimes it takes time to come back to yourself.” 

Jon shifted in his seat, his whole body feeling like it was a live wire. He cupped his chin with his thumb and pressed his pointer finger to his mouth for a moment, moving it only slightly. “Is he going to get his memories back?” 

“Maybe,” she said. “Maybe not. The brain is … not reliable.” 

“What would you do if I were you?” 

She pursed her lips tightly. “I don’t like to give that kind of advice, Mr. Favreau. I am not you… _but_ … I think you should go in and give him comfort tonight. It’s obvious to me that you still care about his well-being and he’s scared and alone. We can cross each bridge as we come to it.” 

Jon fidgeted with his watch, tightening it before relaxing it. The moment stretched out before him. He was… unsure. The last two weeks had been hard, harder than he had thought possible and the idea of having Lovett back even just for the night was something he didn’t think he was ever going to get. The fact that it would have an end date, with the high probability of it being even worse in the long run when Lovett discovered he lied to him? Almost outweighed the short time of albeit fake relief. 

Almost. 

“Where is he?” 

Dr. Ramirez gave a small smile. “I’ll take you to him.” 

He stood up with her and she silently led him down a hall and through three sets of doors before he was in what looked like a lock-down ward more than an ICU. She showed him how to put on a clean blue smock, showed him proper hand washing procedure and led him back to a room. 

Even before the door opened he could see Lovett through the large glass window. It was like a punch to the gut.

“We are just keeping him in ICU overnight, we’ll move him in the morning,” Dr. Ramirez clarified, no doubt seeing the look on his face. She slid the glass door open and her voice lowered. “It’s mostly a precaution.” 

‘ _Mostly precaution_ ,’ he forced himself to repeat that in his head, as he walked into the room and saw just to what extent that the precaution was needed. 

Lovett lie on his back, which made it seem even more surreal. He was a side sleeper, or flat on his stomach with his face smashed into the pillow. His leg was being held up by a mixture of pillows and one of those weird riggings he’d only seen in bad movies. His arm was braced against his chest on a pillow. 

He was asleep, or at very least his eyes were closed. He looked like he’d gone through the ringer. Puffy eyes, a gash down the side of his cheek. 

Jon felt the need to sit down, or possibly black-out. The room felt too small. He felt a hand on his shoulder and there was the doctor, her lips moving but he didn’t hear anything over the din of the blood pumping in his ears. She led him around the bed to where a chair was and he sat down. 

“Mr. Favreau… _Jon_ …”

He blinked up at her. 

“Listen,” she said, pausing to lift a finger. He heard beeping. It took him a moment to realize it was rhythmic. “That is the heartbeat. If you look up at the screen you can see his blood pressure, which is fairly normal for where he is, his heart rate is a little high but he’s in pain and the oxygen levels. He’s in the 90’s. That’s good. He is good.” 

Jon looked over at the box, where it steadily beeped. His brain relaxed and his focus came back in small increments. He jerked his eyes back to Lovett and watched as his hand strapped to his chest rose an inch and fell. Breathing. Heartbeat. He was alive. 

Without thinking he moved closer to Lovett’s side, leaning up to carefully brush curls off of his forehead. Lovett flinched but didn’t seem to wake up. Jon paused and exhaled. 

“Hey Lovett,” he whispered. “I’m here, okay, I’m right here. You’re safe.” 

Lovett let out a noise that sounded like the thousands of sleepy sighs that he’d heard before. Jon blinked, surprised somehow that tears were starting. He leaned back in the chair and forced himself to clear his throat.

“I’ll be on call for another five hours,” Dr. Ramirez said and handed him a small card with a number on it. “But even after, you can call. I’ll update your friend, you try and get some rest, too.” 

With that, she walked out of the room, leaving him by himself with Lovett for the first time in what felt like forever. He moved to curled toward his body onto Lovett’s good hand. He slipped their fingers together and tilted his head so he could flick his eyes between the rise and fall of Lovett’s chest and the box that said the numbers he only half-understood. 

* 

He woke a few hours later to his hand being squeezed lightly. It took him a few seconds to reconnect as to where he was. When he did his head jerked up and found Lovett looking at him curiously. 

“Why’re you here?” 

Jon’s stomach dropped out below him. He remembered. He remembered everything. “Lovett, I…” 

“You’re killing your back,” Lovett rasped. “You need to go home. Your giant self isn’t meant to contort like that.” 

His back did hurt, but he let out a bubble of relieved laughter. The thought that he would have to leave was enough to make him want to get sick. “I’m sorry, someone I care about was in a car accident, I figured I’d stick it out.” 

“ _You’re_ sorry,” Lovett said, and his voice continued to sound raspy and pained. 

“I’ll get the nurse,” Jon made to get up but Lovett shook his head minutely. 

“Just here,” he said. “Bringing the good stuff, don’t worry.” 

Jon sat back down awkwardly. His back and his neck felt sore but he resisted the urge to make a face because Lovett would mock him for it. Instead he just sat and stared at Lovett for a minute. 

“Look, I know I look bad but you’re freaking me out, Jon,” Lovett said finally. 

Jon opened his mouth and found that again he was feeling weirdly unable to speak. When he finally forced it he was on the verge of tears. “You um. You scared me.” 

He knew it was ripe for a quip, but for once Lovett didn’t take the bait. Instead, he squeezed Jon’s hand softly. He was quiet for a moment before he turned his head slightly, even if it looked like it hurt. 

“I’m sorry.” 

It was a weird gut punch. The words coming from him, the sincerity behind the words. The way that Lovett was looking at him. Just gazing, not glaring or avoiding eye contact. It was nearly too much for him to handle. 

Jon inhaled deeply and almost, _almost_ let the truth slip out, but he only got so far as saying Lovett’s name before a small but broad man walked in in scrubs. He looked at Jon, and then at Lovett and pressed the little antiseptic box on the wall and started to scrub his hands. 

“Good morning. I’m Wilson, I’m here to give him his medication,” he said, somewhat curtly. “You’re a deep sleeper. I came in once when you were out and you didn’t flinch.” 

Jon didn’t know what to say to that so he just nodded. “Do you — uh… need me to move?” 

Wilson shook his head. Setting a few syringes on the silver table near Lovett’s bed on the other side. “I just need to get back to the drip.” 

When Wilson made his way behind Lovett, Lovett raised an eyebrow at Jon and mouthed the word, ‘ _Friendly_ ’. Jon couldn’t quite bite back the laugh and he got a look like he was about to be turned to ice. 

“Dr. Ramirez should be in soon.” Wilson went back to the task at hand, scanning each of the vials and then lining them up. “She might not make it before you fall asleep, but your friend can fill you in.” 

Lovett frowned but his voice was cheery as he said, “Fiancé, actually.” 

Though it didn’t seem to phase Wilson, it made Jon's ears feel warm. He looked at Lovett’s hand and noticed he was unintentionally rubbing his ring finger. There was still the distinct impression and tan line from where they had kept their engagement rings. His ring was on his neck on a chain. He wondered where Lovett’s was. 

He stopped the movement, settling for just holding the hand in his. Lovett squeezed his fingers for a second. 

“You okay?” Jon asked. 

Lovett frowned. “I taste metal.” 

Jon’s eyes flicked up to Wilson who flicked a look back at him. “It’s the saline I pushed to clean the line. He should be fine in a moment, and in about two minutes he should be better than fine.” 

“Wouldn’t complain about that,” Lovett sighed, laying his head back and taking a breath. 

Jon let out a small laugh. “That’ll be unique.” 

Lovett laughed without opening his eyes, but it died quickly with a grimace. “Stop being cute, Favreau. I am injured.” 

“I’ll do my very best.” 

“Jerk.” 

“Stop talking, you’re injured,” Jon retorted. 

Wilson threw a few things in the trash bag and walked around the bed. “The medication should start working in a few minutes. He needs his rest.” 

Yet again, he turned before Jon could respond. The door slid opened and then closed behind him. 

“I’m sure he’s a hoot at parties.” 

Lovett opened one eye. “… Did you just call someone a ‘hoot’?” 

Jon didn’t respond. He put the hand on his forehead back down on Lovett’s hand, not sure why but feeling better with the contact. The warmth of his skin and the faint feeling of a pulse soothing him. He closed his eyes and breathed. 

Lovett nudged his head upwards. “Hey, stop it.” 

Jon looked up at Lovett and frowned. “Stop what?” 

“Acting like I’m dying,” Lovett said. “It’s freaking me out.” 

He wasn’t sure how to react to that. There was the part of him, rather large, that was using this as just… connection. He guessed the comfort of knowing he was alive was the bigger part but not by much. 

“Look around Lovett,” he said, voice shaking a little. “For a while, I thought that you had, or you were.” 

Lovett squeezed Jon’s hand and in a haze half-warbled. “ _Look around, look around… how lucky we are to be alive right now_.” 

“Lovett,” he said, trying to keep himself from laughing. “This isn’t a time for joking. Or Broadway for that matter.” 

“You are so losing your Queer card,” Lovett said. “Even a halfsie like you knows Broadway is always appra-apporp--... right.” 

He laughed and leaned his squeezed Lovett’s hand back. “You’re right, even halfsies like me. Go to bed, you’re high.” 

“Love you,” Lovett sighed. 

Not until he was sure Lovett had fallen back to sleep did he respond. “I love you too, Jon. I’m sorry.” 

*

Two or so hours later, after an interminable amount of time trying to type emails one-handed on his rapidly-dying phone, Hanna and Tommy walked into the room. Hanna held a vase of daisies. She looked a little awkward, waddling into the room and the never-ending feeling of amazement that Tommy was going to be a _dad_ thwapped him just like it did most times he caught sight of Hanna. With Howli it had been from a distance, this was all kinds of a shock to his system. 

Tommy, without hesitation, grabbed Jon into a hug and it was nice for all of the three seconds before Tommy whispered into his ear. “Hallway, now.” 

Jon looked over his shoulder to Lovett, who was talking to Hanna and smiling. He turned back and braced himself as he walked towards the door. 

“Hey,” Lovett called out. “Where are you going?” 

“I figure our boy might need some coffee,” Tommy said. “Plus Hanna always requests your time.” 

Lovett laughed. “Well, your wife likes me better than you. She has great taste.” 

“Nah, she has bad taste. She married me, after all,” his voice was light, a smile on his face but Jon could see the tense lines around his eyes. Lovett would probably read it as well if it weren’t for the painkillers. Too much time together and they knew each other too well. 

“Make sure he gets some food,” Lovett called, but they were already letting the door shut behind them. 

Tommy looked up and down the hallway, putting his hands on his hips and lowering his voice. “Are you fucking kidding me, Favreau?” 

Jon crossed his arms. “The doctor said it is the best course. He’ll remember in a few days and things will go back to normal. But for now, he needs some healing time.” 

“Do you know how fucked up it’s going to be when he realizes you were _playing house_ for the days it took for him to heal up? What the hell do you think that’ll do? We’re still dealing with the fallout of the break-up… You’re risking the company.” 

“The **company** ,” Jon spit out. “That’s what you’re worried about right now? Cause honestly, Tommy? I could care less about the fucking _company_ …” 

Tommy looked slightly abashed but soldiered on. “That’s not what I meant. Just, you have to think about this from his perspective. Would you like to wake up and realize that he’d been lying to you for _days_?” 

“I know, trust me,” he licked his lips. “I’m painfully aware I will probably lose any chance at anything. But… he’s alone. You can’t be here all the time. His family is on the East Coast. What do I do? Break his heart again?” 

“Oh you’ll be doing that,” Tommy said, rolling his eyes. “You are just choosing the timeline.” 

Jon knew it. He wasn’t dumb. But he was also selfish, apparently. 

Tommy brushed his hands through his hair, tugging at it slightly. “Well, fuck me.” 

“Yeah, I know the feeling.” 

With a slow exhale Tommy turned on his feet and started towards the elevator. When Jon didn’t immediately follow, he turned around and looked annoyed. “Are you coming?” 

“Where?” 

“Cafeteria, dumbass.” 

Jon’s eyebrows furrowed. 

“I told them we were getting coffee. And Lovett’s probably right. When was the last time you ate?” 

Jon honestly had no idea, so he followed behind him. 

The elevator ride was pretty quiet, thankfully Tommy had a sense of where the cafeteria was, which was nice as he had no idea. He followed Tommy automatically so much so that he barely registered standing in line and even less so paying. Tommy might’ve been the one to do that. 

Either way, they were seated at a table, a huge cup of coffee in front of him and what appeared to be an omelet but he had no idea what was in it. Not that it mattered. He took a bite and his stomach remembered it existed and was dead empty, so the omelet, with whatever was in it was gone in maybe three bites. 

He swallowed the still too-hot coffee and regretted it. 

Tommy was staring at him. He loved his friend like a brother, but the stares were sometimes reminders of how brothers were annoying. He opened the lid and started to blow on it. 

“Are you going to yell at me some more?” 

Not that he would blame him. He deserved it. He was under no delusions about that. 

Tommy shook his head, breaking the stare down and looking at his own untouched coffee. “You know. I’m not good at the feelings thing.” 

Jon let out a bubble of actual laughter. It felt weird and good and he saw the small smile that Tommy gave him. 

“Shut up, Favreau. I’m trying something here. I still think this is pretty sick to do to Lovett. I’ll stand by your logic, at least, but it’s a dick move.” 

“Gee thanks, Tommy,” Jon said, and he blew on his coffee again before taking a tiny sip. 

Tommy finally sipped his and looked away. “What about you though?” 

Jon startled and sat up straighter in his seat. “What _about_ me?” 

“What is this going to be for you? You and Lovett are running back towards a brick wall. At least he doesn’t know it’s coming, you know it’s there. You know the pain. Are you prepared for that?” 

He put the lid back on so he could take longer sips, looking down and away from Tommy. He was aware of the fact, he had just been avoiding deliberately thinking about it. It wouldn’t change the fact, it wouldn’t change his decision. It was embarrassing to think of it as a reprieve from the pain of the last two weeks and he knew for a fact if he called it that Tommy would cut him off at the pass. 

“Jon…” 

“I’m doing what’s best for Lovett,” he blurted out. “It’s the least I could do, you know?” 

Tommy scoffed loudly. “No, Jon. It is not the least you could do. The least you could do is tell the truth and walk away.” 

“I can’t … do that.” 

Tommy rubbed at his face with one hand. “Yeah, I know. This is going to be a shit show.” 

“I know.” 

“Well, as long as we are both on the same page,” Tommy said, sarcasm thick. “We should get you some more food and back upstairs. I’m sure your _fiancé_ is curious as to where you went.”

* 

They got back up to the room about ten minutes later, after he scarfed down another omelet and grabbed a few protein bars to keep in the room. He was almost sure that he would get kicked out of the room at some point, but for the moment he didn’t care. Tommy had gone by the pups for him. He had time.

Lovett had his hand on Hanna’s belly, hers over his to move it around. He was smiling and laughing, which was nice. 

“Hands off Hanna,” Tommy teased. 

“Even your kid likes me more, Vietor.” 

Tommy walked over to where Hanna was seated and leaned over her belly to kiss it. “That’s not true at all, Freddy. Your Uncle is a jerk. You’ll learn.” 

“Hey,” Lovett protested. “Making fun of the broken. You’re all heart.” 

“Yeah, about that,” Tommy said and lifted his hand off his wife’s belly. “Can you not do that again? As a person who cares for you, I’d rather not wake up to that phone call ever again. Ever.” 

There was a light tone to his voice but no question of the seriousness behind it. 

Lovett, though, didn’t seem to care. “As I can’t remember what I did I can’t make any promises, but I’ll be behind never getting in an accident again. If not for me than for Jon alone. He’s aged more than Obama did in those eight years in office.”

“Gee thanks,” Jon scoffed. The truth was he felt like he might actually have aged in just that night alone, but he’d been off for two weeks. Not that Lovett had any idea about that. 

He caught Tommy’s look from the corner of his eye. He knew perfectly well how Tommy felt, but it was nothing as to how he felt. A little while later Lovett sent Hanna and Tommy on their way and told Jon he had to go home to at least get Lovett some of his gear. (“And have some water hit you, Favs. And caffeine.”) 

Jon never drove faster than then, as he was afraid he’d come back to find Lovett remembering everything. He breathed slowly and tried to enjoy every minute of Lovett bitching about his phone being smashed somewhere. Jon ordered him a new one without telling him. He’d missed his rants. 

*

Lovett forced him to go home a second time on the fourth morning. There were no tests scheduled and the doctor wouldn’t be in for a few hours. Lovett bluntly told him he smelled and then told him that he had to get the house ready for Lovett’s return. 

That threw Jon right off. He left, a swift kiss to Lovett’s cheek, but as he left the room he was already in anxiety mode. He picked up the phone to call Tommy but knew what he would get (most likely yelled at with a slim chance of laughing). He hadn’t actually thought about the whole… after thing. He’d been allowing himself to enjoy the days but the moment that Dr. Ramirez had told him would come had not yet come. Lovett still thought they were a happily engaged couple. 

He dug in his pocket for the wrinkled-up card and hummed for a long moment before dialing the number on it. 

“Dr. Ramirez.” She answered on the first ring. Or halfway through it? He could barely tell. Her voice was tense, and he worried he’d interrupted something important. 

He was most of the way through the hospital, almost to the doors but realized if he went into the parking lot he was doomed to drop the call, so he sat off to the side in one of the empty waiting rooms. 

“Hi, Dr. Ramirez, it’s Jon. Um. Favreau. Jon Lovett’s … partner?” 

“Oh yes,” she said, her voice softening. “Mr. Favreau… _Jon_. How are you?” 

Jon chewed on his lower lip. There had been a lot of asking about Lovett lately, he’d hardly taken stock of himself, but to unpack that would be tedious and frankly unfair to the doctor. Instead, he breathed in. “He hasn’t gotten his memory back.” 

There was a pause, probably longer in his head than in real life, but it felt eternal. “Yes, I know. I keep my eye on the statuses of all my patients.”

“He doesn’t remember,” Jon repeated. “He is being released and he doesn’t remember and he wants me to make our home ready. Problem being he is staying at a hotel.” 

“I told you that the brain isn’t always reliable,” she started. “I can’t make any guarantees how long it will take. I can say that he is doing well enough if he is being released, that you could tell him the truth without worry of overwhelming him.” 

_Without overwhelming him_. 

Yeah. That didn’t seem like a viable enough response, as he might not be overwhelmed but he more than likely would want to kill him. It would be hard to have an easy healing time in prison. 

“I just tell him?” 

The noise she made was not. It could be telling him that that was the only thing to do, or the _last_ thing to do, for all he could understand it. He knew that she was a doctor and not a therapist but really he could use someone _anyone_ to take the weight of this responsibility off of him. 

He licked his lips and then bit the lower one. He rubbed his forehead. He put together the last four days and deconstructed every single moment. 

She coughed. “Mr. Favreau, I have to go.” 

_Fuck_. 

“Of course, of course. Thank you, thank you for taking the time to talk, and for all you did for Lovett… Thank you.” 

“Anytime,” she said and added just before she hung up. “It is my literal job.” 

Lovett would have rolled his eyes at the obviously bad joke. He would have said something like it was a little hack, or maybe he would have been jealous he didn’t come up with it. He would have laughed, in the end. It would have been Jon’s favorite laugh, the one where he tried to keep it in, but then he would turn his head and it would burst out. 

Jon got up and headed to his car. He drove to their … to _his_ house in silence, trying his best to rationalize the decision he already made. 

When he got home he looked up the hotel that he knew that he was at and called to say that Mr. Lovett had been in an accident and that he would be paying the bill and picking up his stuff for his recovery. He then went with proof of residency and with the Doctor’s number on dial. The place gave him surprisingly little trouble letting him in. He almost felt annoyed in Lovett’s honor, but it made his life easier. 

He cleaned up what little trash there was in the house, which was easy as the cleaning woman he’d hired had come in the day before. 

He opened the door to Lovett’s office, placing Lovett’s laptop in its usual place. Put the clothes back into the empty side of his wardrobe and closet. He plugged in Lovett’s charger for his phone. 

Finally, he took a shower and made himself eat what he assumed was left for him by the Vietors when they came to pick up the pups. There was a small reheat-able thing of spaghetti and meatballs. It didn’t matter if it was good or not, he didn’t taste it as it went down. 

* 

“The doctor _did not_ tell you to continue this freaking bullshit lie,” Tommy railed, his voice echoing from the phone that Jon had pulled away from his head. He wasn’t screaming, but he sure could make his voice strong when he wanted to. 

Jon looked around. He knew Lovett was asleep in their bed, high as a kite off of the last dosage of painkillers, but he had to make sure. He knew that it wasn’t exactly his best lie, one of those ones he wouldn’t believe himself, yet he couldn’t make himself care. 

“His memory will come back more easily if he has an established rhythm, one that he is used to,” Jon said, which he had read was true. Even if Dr. Ramirez hadn’t said it, a doctor _somewhere_ had said it so there had to be something there. 

Tommy scoffed. “Jon, I was hesitant to play this little game at the hospital but how long do you think you can keep this going? And his routine, if you remember, had changed. Maybe if you play house with him, instead of letting him back to the hotel, to his _life_ , you are hindering him.” 

“Maybe you aren’t the one to make this choice, Tommy.” 

“ _You aren’t either, Jon_.” There was a long pause, and he thought he could hear Hanna’s voice in the background. “Okay. Okay. We’ll deal with this. We’ll handle this. But you are going to tell him, Jon. You are going to tell him, or I will.” 

Jon’s brain went fuzzy for a second. “What?” 

“Two weeks. If he hasn’t gotten better in two weeks, we’re going to tell him the truth. Either you or I will do it.” 

Two weeks, he knew that Tommy had just picked a random time, but fuck if that wasn’t on the nose. He’d spent two weeks wishing he could start over and now he had two weeks ahead of him. 

He swallowed. “Okay. I’ll tell him. In two weeks.” 

“This is going to be a real shit show,” Tommy said, the last words muffled by what he could only guess was one of Tommy’s hands. “And I love you, Jon. But I won’t blame Lovett for any way he reacts.” 

“I know. Me neither.” 

“I’m calling Pfieffer,” Tommy said. “We’ll bring the dogs over in a few hours.” 

Jon flinched. “Do you think you can keep them one more night? I don’t want too much noise to hurt his ears and the dogs will freak when they see him.” 

“You are taking Lucca for two weeks when this baby is born, maybe a month.” 

He smiled, he couldn’t help himself. “You’ll be back day two wanting your first child to meet her sibling.” 

“Well, then you’re taking the kid so we can take a nap.” 

Not that he would admit to it, but it wasn’t like that would be a hardship. 

He heard the cadence of Hanna in the background. 

“I mean, no, you aren’t taking our kid,” Tommy said and it got a small chuckle out of Jon. “Don’t laugh, I’m mad at you.” 

“Later, Vietor.”

“Fuck you, Favreau,” Tommy said, but there wasn’t a bite to it like there might have been a moment before. The phone went silent before he could retort with a quip about Hanna having a say in that. He figured Tommy knew he would have made it though, so he let it go.

He padded back across the house, having wisely gone to the kitchen to answer Tommy’s call. It was still bright out, so he’d put their blackout curtains to good use, the light streaming in from the hallway all that showed him the outline of Lovett’s back facing away from them. 

Without thinking better of it, he slipped into bed behind Lovett and let himself drape himself in the way he’d wanted to for too long. Lovett curled back into it and hummed in his sleep. 

Two weeks. 

Yeah, he was screwed. 

*

He didn’t realize he’d slept until he blinked and suddenly the light was barely there, Lovett had shifted in his sleep and he realized just how much he shouldn’t have left his arm at an angle as it was completely dead weight. He didn’t move. He just took long steadying breaths and watched Lovett breathing. It was becoming habit, and a creepy one at that, but he was alive. That was still enough for him. 

“You’re staring,” a sleepy slur startled him. Lovett, his eyes still closed, let a small smile out. “Caught you.” 

Jon frowned. “No, I was sleeping.” 

“No snores,” he said. 

“I don’t snore!” 

Lovett opened his eyes. “You have recognizable breathing patterns. Better?” 

Jon huffed but smiled back. “Sure. Just remember, I’m the caregiver.”

“Oh, Jonathan, we haven’t played a game in a while.” 

He felt the heat spread in his face. He shook his head. “None of that.”

“No fun, Favs.”

“You need meds? Ice? Heat?” 

Lovett grimaced. “Food? I think?” 

Jon went through what they had in the fridge and slid his phone out of his pocket. Postmates it was. He had moved to a seated position, his arms slowly getting feeling back into it in the worst way possible. “What do you want? I’m thinking something light.” 

“Pizza,” Lovett moaned. “Or pasta.” 

“We have different definitions of light.”

Lovett stuck out his tongue. “If I’m stuck in bed for the foreseeable future, I might as well wallow in carbs a bit.” 

There was no actual rationale behind that, but he couldn’t bring himself to fight Lovett on it. He looked so annoyed and uncomfortable that all Jon could do was bring up the closest and best Italian restaurant and hand the phone to Lovett. A minute late the phone was handed back. He picked out a salad, and threw in gnocchi because why the hell not? He thought about the red wine he had in the small wine cabinet they had but knew that wasn’t happening with the painkillers. 

“It’ll be here in 45 minutes,” Jon said after the little time popped up on his screen. 

Lovett seemed to think about it for a minute before he turned his eyes away. “I have to pee.” 

Oh yeah. That. They had gone through the routine at the hospital. They’d even been given a weird pee vessel for the middle of the night emergencies but been encouraged to move him to the bathroom when possible. Jon got out of bed and moved to Lovett’s side before he offered him his hands and Lovett took one of them. 

“Who says romance is dead?” 

Jon didn’t flinch, even if there was a part of him that felt like maybe even Lovett’s subconscious was playing with Jon. He helped him shimmy himself to the edge. They would go to get him fitted for a boot soon, hopefully, but for the moment he still wore the bulkiest wrapped leg he could see. 

“Don’t put pressure on it,” Jon reminded him and he got a familiar glare. 

“Gee, thanks.” 

Lovett pushed up and let out a low moan followed by a few phrases that could make a sailor blush. Jon offered him his body for leverage, he had to almost bend down to walking on his knees but he knew better than to tease at that moment. 

They slowly made their way through the small open-air part of their bathroom. As soon as they got to the toilet, Lovett looked at Jon. 

“You, out.” 

Jon frowned. “What?” 

“I am holding on to like three small shreds of dignity and you watching me sit to pee is one of them. I will call you when I need you.”

*

That night they lay in bed together, Lovett awkwardly curled half onto his side fast asleep. Jon had offered to move to the guest bed. He’d said it was because Lovett was injured and he needed the time to heal and the space to move. Lovett had said he would rather Jon be near him, that he would be comforting. 

What Jon didn’t say was that he felt like it was disobeying a rule that couldn’t be written yet. He was painfully aware that one day, too soon, he would have to tell Lovett everything or Lovett would remember it himself. He figured the less space he violated the better.

Except for the look on Lovett’s face when he said that it was okay if _Jon_ needed space was enough to let him know it wasn’t. 

It didn’t take much to convince him. 

*

The third morning that Lovett was there Jon woke up and for a minute he forgot everything. He forgot that Lovett wasn’t his, he forgot that they weren’t really going anywhere, that it was a lie. He simply forgot. Lovett was slack-jawed, snoring from sleeping on his back and there was most definitely drool on his cheek. 

Something inside of Jon felt so purely full of joy that he leaned over and gently kissed his cheek (avoiding the drool), then his forehead, and his nose. When Lovett startled a little to awake he kissed Lovett’s suddenly closed mouth. 

“M’sleeping,” Lovett muttered, but he tilted his head and kissed him again, softly. “See? Not breakable. Missed you.” 

It all hit him in the type of wave that felt nearly nauseating. He’d been avoiding kissing him on the lips. He’d told himself that was his concession to the reality of the situation. Avoiding that level of intimacy, even if they shared other familiar types. 

He couldn’t possibly explain that without explaining everything else, so he forced a smile. “Your leg would beg to differ.” 

Lovett’s glare could probably level a building, but to be fair it was morning and he was probably in pain. “Not so funny yet, Favreau.” 

“I’ll bring you some toast and water to take the painkillers,” he shifted to get out of bed but Lovett pulled him back. Another kiss, and another. It made his stomach hurt but his heart beat a little faster in his chest. “You should take it easy.” 

Lovett smiled. “I wouldn’t have to do anything.”

Jon’s semi-hard morning wood went to rock hard in a rush of blood. He inhaled and exhaled, trying to remind his body to stop with the betrayal bit and shook his head. “… Not yet, Lovett. Painkillers.” 

He forced himself out of the bed and tucked his dick under his boxers out of humiliation for the first time in easily a decade. 

“ _Blue balls are a medical condition_!” Echoed from behind him. 

If this was Before he would have laughed and corrected him that they were _in fact_ not at all, but this was different. Instead, he focused on his feet in front of him and the rising guilt in his chest. 

* 

He didn't tell Tommy about the kiss, or the fact that since they kissed he continued to do so. It wasn't like he could just go back to _not_ kissing him without raising suspicions. He let Lovett initiate most of them, allowing for his comfort level, but snuck in a few kisses because he was a selfish person. 

He did tell Dan, who was hundreds of miles away and who he felt safer talking to about things because of that fact. Dan also had a way about him, he knew when to joke and how to be an idiot, but when it came down to it he was intelligent and calming at the best of times. 

"Okay," Dan responded when Jon finished the whole story. To say Jon had expected different, or at least _more_ , would be an understatement. Dan had been vocal as to his disagreement with Jon's choices over the last few weeks. He was at least expecting an 'I told you so'. 

Jon waited as long as he could before he tried again. "Are you kidding me? 'Okay'? That's it?" 

"You knew what you were getting into when you made this decision, Jon. What do you want me to say? 'Feel bad.' 'Punish yourself'? I think you've got those both covered." 

Which was admittedly true. Except, something he wouldn't tell even Dan, that he wasn't letting himself feel guilty as much as he probably should. The small kisses he let them have were enough to get him through the days. The fact that Lovett was getting out of bed and on the couch so they could cuddle was something he reveled in. 

"Jon, you know I love you, but you are being irrational. You kissed him, more than once. What the hell does that matter? You are keeping something huge from him. That is the real thing here." 

Jon swallowed hard. "Gee, thanks Pfieffer." 

"It's the truth," Dan said. "And these arbitrary rules aren't going to make this easier in the long run. So, I don't know, enjoy the time you have before your world falls down." 

From the other room he heard a familiar call of his name. He frowned. While it hadn't been the calming success he'd been hoping for it had definitely been enlightening. "Okay. Fuck. " 

"Exactly." 

"I have to go. I'll text you later." 

"Wait," Dan stopped him. "Know I'm not in either corner here." 

Jon knew it, had known it. Tommy might be pissed at him, but he knew both of his friends were rooting for him in their own way. "I know." 

"Tell Lovett he needs to get better Kyla bought him Minnie band-aids." 

Jon couldn't help but smile. "Well, Minnie band-aids. He has no choice." 

"Exactly." 

He hung up and walked to the bedroom. Lovett was belligerently looking at the door. 

"You rang?" he said, going for levity. 

Lovett looked him dead in the eye. "Cut the cast off. Now." 

He went towards the small mock-up of gadgets they had rigged up to itch the places where Lovett couldn't. "Is it lower or higher up?"

"It's not _itching_ , though thanks for putting that in my head, I just... I'm done. Can I be done?" 

Jon slipped onto the bed and curled onto his side. Lovett had his arm flopped over his face and looked so decidedly exhausted that Jon couldn't bring himself to make a joke. He just let Lovett pout for a little while, as he had nothing helpful to say. What was worse was he wanted the opposite. Time to slow down, let him stay for longer. Not necessarily in pain, or in the cast but ... there. He wanted him there if the cast was part of it...

"I feel useless. I _am_ useless," Lovett said, looking over at Jon and before he could counter it Lovett went on. "I'm lying here, doing _nothing_. I can't work. I can't even really troll the internet. I look like death, probably smell worse. Going to the bathroom is like walking to freaking Mordor. And I'm uncomfortable all the time. And you are treating me like GLASS. I'm turning into a teenager here." 

Jon blinked at him. "What?" 

"You know what I mean," Lovett said. "We've been basically roommates since I got home." 

"It's been five days, you were in a major accident..." Jon defended but Lovett glared him down. 

"You didn't kiss me for over a week. My lips aren't broken." 

Jon bit his lip. "I didn't know what you were feeling up to?" 

Lovett blinked and looked down towards his crotch. "Yeah, not going for that easy volley." 

"Really Lovett? What are we, 14?" 

"I am turning 14," Lovett said. "Do you know how hard it is to jerk off with a brace on your dominant hand? Cause I do." 

The idea, however perverse, of Lovett masturbating with him in the house, was possibly the hottest thing that Jon had thought of in a while. He couldn't help himself, he licked his lips. He'd spent so much time focusing on all the reasons why he shouldn't be doing anything that he hadn't let himself think past a kiss. 

His brain played it out quite nicely as he stared at an incredulous Lovett. 

“You masturbated when I was in the other room?” 

Lovett huffed. “Like you would have let me do it if you’d been here. You act like I’m going to break to pieces if I stand up too fast… What are you doing?” 

“If you had _asked_ ,” Jon said, slipping his hand down the front of Lovett’s sleep shorts. “I might have stopped you. But I could have helped, if you wanted.” 

“Jesus _fuck_ Favreau,” Lovett’s head snapped back on the pillow and his body arched slightly. He was all but panting. “Do not get cute with me.” 

Jon, even though his brain told him this wasn’t the best idea, felt the familiar warmth spreading he always got when he could get Lovett horny and annoyed. He almost liked that version of sex with Lovett best. “Me? I would never get cute with you.” 

He pulled his hand back and just as Lovett turned to seemingly yell, he licked the palm. Not that he needed much, there was plenty of precum. Lovett’s eyes rolled into the back of his head. 

“Are you joki--?” Lovett started but then Jon was stroking him again. 

It wasn’t exactly a three pump chump, but Lovett wasn’t kidding when he said he was a teenager. A minute or two later Lovett let out a low groan and the warm wet feeling on Jon’s hand let him know it was done. He let out a low grumble of a laugh. 

“No laughing,” Lovett said, but he sounded more satisfied than annoyed. “You did this.” 

“I know, I was there. It just happened.” 

Lovett reached his uninjured hand out and batted at Jon’s jeans. “I … Let me.” 

“I’m good,” Jon lied. 

“Jon, come on,” Lovett sighed. “Let me…”

Jon swallowed around the guilt in his gut and forced a smile. “You are going to need me to wipe you down and take off those shorts.” 

“Always trying to get in my pants,” Lovett said, lazy grin on his face. “You’re addicted.” 

He tilted his head. “Always.” 

*

Jon walked into the living room a few days later holding a cup of coffee and a bottle of Diet Coke. Lovett had insisted on getting out of bed, saying that he was sure he was going to have to be airlifted out any day now and had made it through a weird half-bath mostly by himself. He had let Jon help him get dressed, which was like getting clothes on the dogs, not that he would tell Lovett that. 

He came around the edge of the couch to hand Lovett his bottle when he noticed that Lovett was staring at his phone, back rigid and skin paler than usual. 

“Lovett?” Jon said, but he didn’t get a response. “What’s going on?” 

“Steve...” Lovett said. 

Jon’s stomach clenched, he placed his mug and the bottle on the coffee table. “Is everything okay? Justin? The kids?” 

Lovett’s face turned to Jon and Jon, in an instant, knew it wasn’t Steven and Justin who were in trouble. Jon swallowed. 

“He wanted to know what I was doing _here_ ,” Lovett said and tilted his head. “Now, why would he wonder that?” 

The moment stretched in front of Jon. He still had a week. A full week. He had been planning all the ways that he was going to breach this. He had gone through scenarios and worst cases. This was most definitely not the worst case, this was beyond worst case. This was Titanic levels of ‘oh holy fuck’.

Lovett’s mouth had closed and the muscle twitched in his jaw. Jon was only lucky that getting up was difficult for him, or Jon was sure he’d be halfway to the airport. He exhaled. 

“Lovett, I was… I was going to tell you.” 

“You were going to tell me _what_ , Jon? That you and I broke up? That I left this house. That we’ve been living some sort of freaking Stepford life? How long were you going to wait to tell me that?” 

Jon felt like his skin was itching, he wanted to take Lovett’s hand, wanted to kiss him. Any contact. But no. So he stood up. He walked a few steps away, giving Lovett space to breathe, or to fume. 

“Look,” Jon said and then stopped. There wasn’t an easy way to say any of this. He licked his lips. “I was going to tell you in a week. I thought maybe you’d remember… or maybe you’d… forget?” 

“I’ve already _forgotten_ , Jon,” Lovett snapped. 

Jon let out air. “Bad choice of words. I meant. That you would look at these two weeks and see what happened and remember what this was. What we are.” 

“What are you even _talking about_?” 

Jon blinked. “Did he not tell you?” 

Lovett’s face went red. “I didn’t tell _him_ , so he couldn’t tell me. He just said that I was hurt and that I was looking at townhomes.” 

“You were looking at townhomes?” Jon’s voice went higher than he expected. 

“Apparently,” Lovett shrugged. 

He rolled his shoulders back, making himself breathe slower. He’d known he’d fucked up. He’d been there for the whole thing. He just didn’t know to what extent. He’d hoped that they would get around it all. But a townhouse? That was moving out for good. That was a place for Pundit to go. 

“Tell me what happened,” Lovett said, with the tone of a someone who wasn’t in the mood to wait for the answer. 

“We’d been to the barbeque at Tommy and Hanna’s,” Jon said. “We both got pretty drunk.” 

“I remember that, mostly.” 

Jon paced, and Pundit and Leo, who’d been in the corner cuddling on one of the two dog beds they’d bought, came to sit near him. Leo whined, Pundit barked. 

“I fell asleep on the couch and when I woke up you were on the chair,” he gestured needlessly to the chair nearby. “You were mad.” 

“Why?” 

Jon swallowed. “You saw some texts from Leah.” 

“Leah, your _ex-fianceè_ , _Leah_?” Lovett went to scoot up but flinched. Jon looked instinctively at the clock. His meds were running low. But he wasn’t going to go out and tell him that. 

He nodded. “We’ve been talking off and on. Which I didn’t think was a big deal…” 

“It’s a pretty fucking big deal, Jon.” 

It was like a playback of that morning. Except the positions were switched. He’d been the one laid out on the couch, with Lovett pacing. Jon stopped himself. In the time between when it happened and then he’d gone over a lot of the moments over and over again. 

He’d run it a thousand times, always wondering if how he handled it could have changed the outcome. He’d gone on the defensive, he’d been hungover and stupid. He’d called Lovett a drama queen. It was all wrong. He’d been all wrong. 

“It was a big deal,” he said, almost choking on the words. “I didn’t mean it to be, but it was. I wasn’t… I would _never_ take it farther than what it was. Two people who’d known each other well talking… but I should have told you about it.” 

Lovett’s face was red. His lips a thin line. There was something brewing and he knew whatever came out of Lovett’s mouth he deserved. He braced himself.

“Get out.” 

He hadn’t braced himself for that. 

He took a moment to inhale and exhale, his chest feeling suddenly a lot tighter than he was prepared for. He shook his head. “No.” 

“Did I _stutter_ Favreau?” 

“No,” he said and tried to think of a valid way to get through to him. Nothing came to mind. His face was so angry, even the day that he left he hadn’t seemed this angry. Seeing as he was obviously pissed enough to run away made Jon’s stomach lurch. “Lovett, I … I can’t ask you to forgive me.” 

Lovett let out a derisive laugh. “For _what_? For talking to your ex without telling me or for _lying_ for weeks while I had no way of knowing any better? _Who are you_?” 

There was a moment he thought of telling him that it was the doctor’s idea, that he had been told that it would be better to let his brain heal. But that was a cop-out and he knew it. He straightened himself up and rubbed at his hair with both hands. He couldn’t tell him exactly who he was. He hadn’t really known who he was since Lovett left the house the first time. Maybe before that. 

The texts from Leah were boring. Nothing salacious or even in that direction. Just a simple set of back and forth, a picture from ages ago, a thank you and a heart emoji. He had wondered in the days after, if the emoji had been the death of … well. Everything. It didn’t matter of course, but in between the insomnia and the exhaustion it felt like it did. 

“Either,” he said, his voice coming out weirdly calm. “I can’t ask you to forgive me. I will ask you to listen, just for a moment. So I can give you the truth.” 

Lovett crossed his arms and gave him the look that told him that he was only being given half of Lovett’s attention, the other focused on how he was going to respond to it. It was a habit that annoyed Jon but he guessed he earned it. He slipped a hand through his hair again, and exhaled. 

He had gone through this conversation, or variations of it, so many times that it should come as easy as any speech he’d written but the words felt stuck on his tongue. He looked to Lovett again and swallowed thickly. 

“Leah texted me to see how I was doing,” he started and by the way Lovett’s eyes narrowed it might not have been the best place to start. “You were in New York. She lives in Baltimore now, with her boyfriend. She just… wondered how life was here. Said that she was thinking of coming to LA for vacation.” 

Lovett frowned. “And to what, come by for a visit?”

“She asked,” he said honestly but quickly added. “I said no. That it would be better if we didn’t see each other.” 

The muscle in Lovett’s jaw flexed. 

“But she wanted places to stay near Disney. I figured it wouldn’t be a big deal. I told her we liked the Grand Californian… We talked. Reminisced for a bit, I guess. Talked about our lives. She seems happy. She said she was happy we got our act together.” 

A smile ghosted on Lovett’s face and it was like the first breath after being in the water for too long. Except it faded away too quickly. “That doesn’t sound like something I would leave you for, Jon.” 

“You read her text, it just said, ‘Thanks for the text and a little heart emoji.” 

Lovett’s brows furrowed. “ _Thanks for the text_?” 

“I told you you could read all of it, everything we said, but you looked at a handful and then you were gone.” 

He looked Jon up and down and seemed to consider something. “I want to read them again…” 

Jon grabbed his phone from his pocket, even if it made his heart hurt to think about it. It would quite possibly end in the same way that it had a few weeks ago. Instead Lovett shook his head. 

“Not yet,” he said and rubbed at his forehead. “Two weeks, Favs. _Two weeks_. You couldn’t find a moment in those two weeks to talk about this? Or ot let me in on something life altering that happened when I couldn’t remember?” 

The tone of pure defeat in his voice made Jon feel like he’d been kicked in the gut by a Major League Soccer player. He had to take a moment to collect himself before he could try and continue on. He cycled through the options again, trying to think of the best way to phrase it to just get that look off Lovett’s face. 

He opened his mouth to lie but instead the truth came out. “I was petrified.” 

“Of _what_?” 

“You were in a car accident!” Jon rubbed at his forehead. “And if it were any other day, before… I would have been scared but the only reason they called me was because you hadn’t bothered to change the name on your phone’s In Case of Emergency. That’s what kept me from knowing versus not knowing. A freaking oversight.” 

His voice brought the dogs’ attention, and yipping followed. “And then I was just waiting and waiting and I don’t even know _why_ because I knew you’d wake up and want me gone but then you _didn’t_. You asked for _me_. I felt like I was breathing again after a really long time.

“You were … gd you looked so broken. I thought I was going to be sick. The doctor said you might remember that day, or the next. She said it might be best to let you remember on your own and I … clung to that like a life raft.” 

Lovett, who he couldn’t read at all, was rubbing at his face. “So you lied to me.” 

“I didn’t lie to you,” he answered automatically. The flick of Lovett’s eyes made him stop. “I just. I kept things from you. I shouldn’t have. I shouldn’t have not told you.” 

“Were you ever going to?” 

Jon licked his lips. “Tommy said I had to by next Friday.” 

“ _Tommy_?” 

“Yeah, he um. Well, probably Hanna. They said I had two weeks to tell you,” Jon felt a little deflated. It sounded worse when he said it out loud, distinctly like he was 15 and not 37. 

A weird bubble of laughter left Lovett, followed by another until he was bent over, eyes crinkling. “Are you fucking kidding me, Jon? Tommy and Hanna had to tell you to tell me? Were you going to pass me a damn note? You know they are _your age_ , right?” 

Jon could feel his lower lip rise a little and he couldn’t help but blush. Sure, it was dumb. It was ‘If it was what you say it was, I love it’ levels of dumb. He was aware of it. 

He felt his skin tighten as the laugh seemed to settle down. “I was going to tell you either way.” 

It would have been true. Even with all the little moments he’d loved in the last week he was sure he’d have hit the wall at some point. He wasn’t good at lying. He slipped down on a chair near the couch. 

“Oh, that’s good. When, exactly? After our wedding? Maybe when we adopted a kid?” Lovett snapped. “Or maybe you could have waited till one of our deathbeds. Can’t stay angry at that point, right?” 

Jon bristled. “Next Friday. I was going to tell you next Friday.” 

“Because Tommy **told** you to,” Lovett said, he looked so angry, hurt, tired and in pain that it was all he could do not to try and offer comfort to him. Painkillers, an ice pack, to just wrap him up in a hug. But that wasn’t his right. He had lost that. 

“I wanted to tell you the first day,” he said. “I wanted to, I swear to Gd, Lovett. I just couldn’t. And then you asked about home and I’d wanted you to come _home_.” 

He was repeating himself. He couldn’t help it. 

“Give me your phone.”

Jon reached in his pocket, putting his thumb on the open button even though Lovett knew the code. He didn’t have anything to keep from him. He was just glad he hadn’t deleted the texts from Leah, though he’d thought of doing it a hundred times. He’d thought, though, that the texts were the key. He hadn’t done anything. He hadn’t said _anything_. But… the first time Lovett had read it he’d found something obviously. 

His heart reached his throat as Lovett swiftly went through the keystrokes needed to find the text. There wasn’t much time to wonder if he’d see the same thing he’d seen the last time as he watched the look on Lovett’s face go completely blank, a cruel mimicry of the day he read it first. 

Lovett flipped the phone towards Jon, it made it a few inches too close to the edge of the couch for his liking. “You need to leave.” 

“I can’t leave, someone needs to…” 

“Call Tommy. Or Spencer. Or fuck, your brother. Anybody but you right now, Favreau.” 

Jon picked up the phone, nodded and went to the garage. He got into his car. He opened the garage. He hit send on his car’s bluetooth screen. 

Tommy, blessedly, answered on the first ring. “What’s up?” 

“You need to come over.” 

“What, why?” 

Jon exhaled slowly. “He knows.” 

“ _Shit_ ,” Tommy hissed. “We’ll be there in ten.”

Jon sat in the garage waiting until he saw Tommy’s car park in their circle drive before he backed up. He knew logically there wasn’t anything he could have done from his car but he couldn’t bring himself to just leave Lovett in the house by himself. 

He saw Hanna wave as he drove off, but he didn’t wave back. 

*

He drove for the better part of an hour, not really minding where he went. He had music playing from some playlist on his phone but he couldn’t recall a single song that played. He finally pulled over in front of a Starbucks. He had to pee and he didn’t know how long, or if, he’d be allowed back in his house. He realized he hadn’t had his wallet, which was awesome as he had no license. 

Thank gd for Apple Pay. 

He sat in a corner table, the rest of the small store half filled with people on their computers. If only he’d thought to bring his laptop. Work would be a distraction, and he needed one. Instead he fidgeted with his phone. Most of his go-to apps were loaded weapons. Slack could be filled with conversation on it he didn’t want to read. The News app would just piss him off and just what he needed was to start a Twitter rant now, even he had a sense of timing. 

On his fourth cup of coffee and his millionth game of Candy Crush, his phone beeped at him. It was a text from Tommy. 

“ _Come home._ ” 

His stomach lurched, aching in a way he wasn’t prepared for. He licked at his lips, put his hands to respond and found them shaking (though admittedly that could be caffeine related). He wasn’t even sure where he was but he responded. “ _Be there in 20._ ” 

He got into his car and when he input their address he was surprised to find he wasn’t that far from it. Traffic, yes, so it ended up being a slog and about a half hour, but not nearly as bad as he thought it would be. It seemed he must have double backed a lot when he was driving earlier. 

Tommy met him at the door to the garage, along with both Pundit and Leo who tried their best to get his attention. He half assed patting their heads, all the while staring at a pink faced Tommy. It took no knowledge of Tommy to see he was pissed, not that that shocked Jon in the least. 

“I would say I told you so but I was honestly hoping for better than this,” Tommy said. 

Worst case scenarios flitted through his brain. Bags packed. Tommy taking Lovett to his house, though that was harder to see happening as getting him and all of his stuff to the house from the hospital had been like a heist movie. Even a brief image of being removed from the company. Only. That wouldn’t be the worst. It was the best job he’d had, yes, but he’d rather not have Crooked then not have Lovett. 

“He’s willing to talk,” Tommy said. It was like a weight lifted off his shoulders and accidentally missing a step at the same time. He was dizzy with relief. “But he wants us to be here. He doesn’t know what he wants and he needs to know he has an out.” 

Which, admittedly, dulled the relief a little. But he was okay with that. He had to be. This wasn’t a hard end. He was going to talk to him. He gave a tight nod to Tommy who seemed to want to say something but stopped himself as he opened his mouth and turned around instead. 

Lovett was still on the couch, Hanna seated beside him. He didn’t immediately look at Jon, seeming to brace himself before he let himself turn his head. Jon tentatively took a seat in the chair nearby. He knew the ball was entirely in Lovett’s court. That was okay with him. Mostly. 

He wanted to spit out everything he’d been thinking over the last few hours. The apologies. The excuses. The fears. He wanted to ask him what pissed him off about the texts. There were so many things he needed to know but the fact that he had no right to ask them was clear. Even if it weren’t, the death glare from Hanna made it so. 

Lovett licked his lips and grimaced. He’d been gnawing at his lip, Jon could see it. He had to tell himself now was not the time to find the Bag Balm. 

“I don’t know if I can trust you,” Lovett said, his face blank. “I don’t know if I even should.” 

Jon couldn’t keep looking at him, not with the way his face looked, so regulated and non animated, so un-Lovett. He looked at where he had his hands were steepled in front of him. The words came out like he’d swallowed gravel. “I can understand that.” 

“You _can’t_.” ‘

He had no response to that. He was right. Or, he could be right. He didn’t even know. He nodded though, and looked down at his hands. There was a long uncomfortable silence broken only by the sound of what Jon could only assume to be false starts to the next part of the conversation by Lovett. 

“I can’t move out,” Lovett said finally. Jon’s head jerked up. “I still need help, I’m healing and moving everything to the Vietors’ would be just stupid. I have to stay here. With you.” 

It was like his heart was beating in his throat. He was staying. He wanted Jon to stay. Well, possibly saying ‘wanted’ was a strong word. It wasn’t exactly like there were many options for him. He had to force himself to swallow before he could talk. “Okay.” 

“I have my boot to look forward to in a few weeks. I guess I will look for townhomes towards the end,” Lovett said, deflating any high Jon was allowing himself. . “Unless…” 

“Unless?” Jon perked up, Hanna frowned at him. 

Lovett rubbed at his face with both hands. “I need time, Jon. I don’t know what I want right now. But until then we can be roommates. I’ll try and be as independent as possible, but I will need you to…” 

“You know I’ll do anything you need,” Jon butted in. 

Lovett and Hanna gave him almost the same look at the same time. He put his hands up. 

“You need to give me as much space as possible,” Lovett said, voice terse. “If you can do that, we can make this work for now.” 

His overwhelming urge to scream something along the lines of _Of course not. I can’t give you time or space, I need you to hear me. I need to understand what is going on, what happened to make you this angry with me._ was overruled by the look on Lovett’s face. He had his determined look, but underneath it was the pained look he got that Jon had spent the entirety of their relationship trying to permanently wipe away. Usually a kiss would do the trick but that wasn’t an option, obviously. 

“Of course I can do that.” 

Some of the tension in Lovett’s shoulders seemed to ease and it made Jon feel like he’d done something right for the first time all day. Lovett looked at Hanna and gave a small nod. “You can go.” 

“Are you sure?” 

He nodded again. “I’ll text you later.” 

Hanna not-so-gracefully stood up, Tommy ran to help her. “Oof. Fuck. Will this end?”

“Nine weeks,” Tommy said, momentarily breaking the tension of the room with a face splitting smile. Lovett tilted his head and smiled softly at the two, his face falling when he caught Jon looking at him. 

Jon stood up and followed the two of them to the door. He knew both would rather see hm hang at the moment, but his mom had engrained certain things into his brain. Jus as they got to the door Hanna turned to Tommy and jerked her head towards the car. In some married mind meld he just shrugged and walked ahead. 

She looked over her shoulder and then leaned in close.

He braced himself for what was to come. 

“I know what he just said, but I also know Lovett. If you are fucking with him, if you are just here because it’s comfortable? You leave. You don’t get to use him as your back up here. He is worth ten of you. How dare you think otherwise.” 

Jon frowned indignantly. “I know that. What makes you think I don’t know that?” 

Jon feared for Freddy, as his mom had the death glare down. “You figure this out on your own, Faveau. You might want to take a good hard look at that text though. Because if Tommy pulled that? He’d be staying in a shed I’d buy used off of Craig’s List.”

She didn’t give him a chance to talk before she opened the door and walked out. The oue was dead silent, and Jon didn’t know if he was allowed to break it. He walked to the kitchen, careful not to look over. At least he knew food was a necessity. 

*

Jon had never liked the phrase ‘walking on eggshells’, as he wasn’t one to mince words or be too careful. That being said, the next few days he felt the words deep down, maybe even walking on eggshells surrounded by minefields. He didn’t do much when it came down to talking to Lovett, except requisite asking if he needed his meds or if he was hungry. Lovett was the one to make requests for drinks or asking for help out to the living room or to the bathroom. 

When Lovett was in the living room Jon would go to the kitchen, his iPad ready and he would put on earphones but rarely played anything in case he was needed. It was the closest he allowed himself to proximity. He slept on the second bed, which was fine but felt empty and cold. The dogs had taken to Lovett, no doubt protecting him like they’d been doing since he’d gotten home. 

Time and space. 

Lovett required time and space. 

Jon wouldn’t begrudge him it, at all. He just would prefer to know, definitively, that the time would end up with them back to where they had been just a month before. He could handle being in the dog house if it wasn’t a possible step on the path to being in a _different_ house. But then again, he was in the dog house. He wasn’t getting much. 

*

Work went weirdly. Jon and Lovett were calling in, from separate rooms in the same house. No one talked about it. The car accident had been mentioned when it happened, they had a whole month of guest hosts (thank Gd for Alyssa Mastromonaco and DeRay McKesson). Then it began again in earnest. Jon would occasionally go to the office for meetings, in which they could Skype Lovett in if needed. 

The Slack was used more than ever, which was saying something, but it was a lifeline. Stories link being sent to the whole group, gossip sent to the one just for the three of them. It was a nice sense of normalcy in what was otherwise a surreal life. He chatted with Tommy, who was slowly coming to the point where he wasn’t angry at Jon. He chatted with Dan, who made no bones about his feelings towards what was going on. 

Lovett stayed silent. In the chat and mostly in real life. He had to hold on to the once a week he got to do phone-in podcast conversations and the few times they did ads (a thing he once dreaded doing). 

There were times he almost seemed to want to say something. Where he would look at Jon meaningfully and open his mouth but then shut it. Inevitably he’d say something benign or ask for something that Jon knew he didn’t need. It was like Jon wasn’t getting something and Lovett wasn’t giving anything. Jon let him have his time. Even if he felt like his stomach was in a constant knot. 

*

Jon put off looking at the texts for a while. Despite the fact that Hanna had made it clear that he was to look at them. She even sent him an email outlining the facts of why he needed ot look if he wanted ~~to live~~ to talk it out. Something sat weird in his stomach. 

But there came a moment where he couldn’t put it off any longer. It was the day before Lovett got his boot and Jon had no more time to linger in fear. He picked up his phone and typed in ‘Leah’ in the search bar. Her text popped up and he inhaled deeply. 

_Leah: Hi, so this is completely awkward but I need to ask an LA question and you’re my only LA friend._  
Jon: … okay?  
Leah: We’re thinking about coming to Disney for our honeymoon, do you have any recommendations?  
Jon: I’ll look into it but I’d start with the Grand Californian. Best hotel by far.  
Leah: That’s what I keep hearing.  
Jon: We stayed there for a long weekend once, It is clean, comfortable, and has the easiest access to the parks.  
Leah: Oooo. Sounds nice. And you have high standards.  
Jon: Lovett has higher standards.  
Leah: What an adventure that would be.  
Jon: I’ll get back to you with the information.  
Leah: Thanks, Jon. 

_\---Two Days Later--_

_Leah: Oh my gosh! You’ll never guess what I found in my Facebook memories today.  
Leah sent a picture:_

_(A screenshot of her facebook memories with a pic of her and Jon seated on the beach. Jon looking at Leah mid laugh. Underneath it were the lyrics_  
“We drove to Cali  
And got drunk on the beach  
Got a motel and  
Built a fort out of sheets  
I finally found you  
My missing puzzle piece” 

_And a comment from Jon that said “I’m complete… Or I will be when you get out here.”)_

_Jon: I haven’t heard that song in forever, were we that cheesy?_

_Leah: We were young… er. I'd like to see you, if you're free when we're visiting."_

_Jon: I don't think that'd be a good idea._

_Leah: I understand._

_Jon: I miss you though._

_Leah: Miss you, too, Jon. <3 Glad you and Lovett got your act together._

_Jon: Me too._

His stomach dropped. He hadn’t really paid attention to the picture before. It was a stupid picture taken the summer before their breakup. One that he had liked at the time but now he saw as weirdly symbolic of the relationship. She was staring into the camera and beaming, he was staring at her. When he’d moved to Los Angeles before her, she’d made a huge deal about how she would come to him. That had lasted all of six months before she started harassing him to come back, even when he explained things were going well and he was moving forward. 

Not long after she broke up with him. 

He was the one in the relationship who gave, she was the one who expected. It took him nearly a year and Lovett to realize that. But that wasn’t what the picture showed if you didn’t really think of the back story. Instead it showed him looking in love, and Katy Perry lyrics that were so sappy he was embarrassed for his past self _and_ his present self. 

The heart wasn’t the issue, although it might have not helped Lovett’s mood. Instead it was the absolute lack of sense on Jon’s behalf. 

*

The next day Jon was going to talk to Lovett about it. He hadn’t slept much the night before, if at all. He had spent a good chunk of it coming up with talking points, organizing his thoughts and then having them all fall apart. He had tried to come up with Lovett’s counterpoints so he would have good answers to them, preparing like he did for so many debates in his lifetime. 

He didn’t get the chance at first though, as Lovett hobbled out to the front room at just past nine and frowned. “Oh good, you’re awake.” 

Jon, already on his fourth cup of coffee, boggled. He rarely slept past 8 am. “Yeah?” 

“It’s time to take this beast off my leg,” Lovett said. “Remember?” 

The boot. It was boot day. Which was the line in sand that got him to read the stupid text in the first place. Jon nodded like he hadn’t totally forgotten and looked at his phone, where a friendly calendar reminder sat telling him the address and warning him for traffic. 

“We should go,” Jon said. 

Lovett made an unreadable face. “No time like the present.” 

* 

Four hours later they sat on the couch. It was probably the first time they had sat in the room together alone in over a month, and Jon couldn’t even enjoy it, instead he spent the time with his brain going over the cost price analysis of ruining the moment with bringing up the text. 

“I think I’m going to move out.” 

Jon’s head jerked to the side. Lovett wasn’t looking at him, focusing more on the screen where Rachel Maddow was talking about … well. Something. Jon hadn’t been focusing. He blinked and shook his head. 

“No,” he blurted out and then made himself real back. “I mean, what?” 

Lovett turned his head, his eyes squinting under his glasses. “I’ve been looking at places. There is a condo not far from Crooked, it has a first floor available. It’s smaller than I’d like, but it’ll give me a year to get my shit together and then I’ll put a down payment on a house.” 

Something was absurdly wrong with how nonchalant this whole conversation was going and how much it had veered off before he was given a chance to start it. 

“Lo,” he said and flinched as Lovett seemed to recoil at the nickname. “Lovett, we need to talk.” 

A ghost of a smile crossed Lovett’s lips. “I think that’s my line.” 

Jon’s stomach lurched. “No. Not. Lovett. I wanted to talk about the text.” 

“Oh good, that’s exactly where I wanted this to go. Are we going to talk about middle school next on your tour of painful shit I would like to forget?” 

“I think you misread it.” 

Lovett’s face had flushed. “I learned to read pretty young.” 

He forced himself to push forward. “It was the picture, I get that.” 

“Are you _kidding me_ here, Favreau?” 

“It was a stupid picture. Freaking half a decade ago and she shouldn't have sent it.” 

Lovett rubbed at his face. “Yeah, she shouldn’t have. But she did. And it was just a nice little reminder of all you had.” 

“All I had?” Jon brows furrowed. “What the hell?” 

Lovett appeared to be prepping for rant mode, taking deep breaths and moving his hands in front of him like he was trying to conduct a small choir. Jon almost interrupted him but knew better. 

“She messages you, the girl you were meant to spend the rest of your life with and she sends this picture of you lavishing her with love on the beach. And you tell her that you _miss her_ and you expect me to what? Think this is normal.

“And of course she was the girl you were going to marry, she is _exactly_ who you should marry. Sweet, kind, beautiful, intelligent. Your _missing puzzle piece_.You should be white picket fenced in with your two perfect kids and dog by now. Instead you’re in a house with two dogs and _me_.”

Jon frowned. What the hell did that mean? “What the hell does _that_ mean? You are who I’m supposed to be with. I like our house. I like our dogs.”

Lovett let out a scoff. “Of course you think you do. That’s who you are, Jon. Everything’s perfect, right? We live rainbows and sunshine. Except _I’m not rainbows and sunshine_. And you are going to figure that out. She is going on her honeymoon to _Disneyland_. And after that? Kids, a _family_ , picture perfect kids.”

She hadn’t said anything about kids. He hadn’t had anything prepped for this. “We’re going to adopt.”

“Yeah, _eventually_. And who knows when that’ll be. You want a family. She could just _hand you one_. Don’t you get that?” Lovett’s face was red and Jon was more confused than ever. What did that matter?

Lovett deflated, slowly seeming to calm down.

“You said that you missed her.” 

Jon blinked, he kept coming back to that. “What?” 

“You missed her, you wished you could see her but it was probably not a good idea,” Lovett said, voice devoid of any emotion. 

That had been the gist of what he said, not quite right but semantics were unnecessary. “I did say that. I mean, she was a part of my life for half a decade…” 

“And you _miss her_ ,” Lovett said.

“In a way.” 

Lovett picked at the edge of his shirt. “In _what_ way?” 

“In the way you miss someone you knew, who you lived with, who you were engaged to,” he said, he wasn’t feeling confident in anything he was saying. Even more so when Lovett looked up at him with pain in his eyes. 

“I’m sorry. I don’t… I don’t know if I can do this.” 

Lovett went to stand up slowly and still ginger on his leg. Jon reached out and wrapped his hand around his arm gently. “Lo, please don’t.” 

“What’s the point, Jon?” Lovett sat back down but didn’t seem to be able to look Jon in the eyes.

“The point?” he swallowed. “The point is I love you and I want to be with you. I want to marry you. I freaking _asked_ to marry you, you asked back.” 

Lovett frowned. “Like you asked Leah?” 

That was a low blow, and he knew that Lovett knew it. He swallowed around the urge to call him on it, but only just. He knew that Lovett was mad and hurt and had the tendency to say shitty things when he was mad or hurt. He wasn’t good at hiding things, but neither was Jon. 

“You know why Leah and I didn’t work out,” Jon said, his voice slow and deliberate. “You were there for the whole thing.” 

Which he had been. Jon moving to Los Angeles ahead of her. Preparing his life to continue with her in it and then it falling apart. He had fallen apart after that. His life falling to the side as he threw himself into working for Fenway and didn’t do the things that were normal, like really eating or sleeping beyond the very basics. Lovett had been the one to pull him back up and over a series of months that had turned into a year they had become something more. 

Lovett looked at him, and Jon for the first time in awhile felt the anger well up in him. He’d been the one in the dog house for so long he hadn’t allowed himself to feel anything but guilt but that was over, apparently. 

“I fell for you after Leah, and yeah. I was engaged to her. I can’t change that. I was with her because I loved her, I can’t change that either. I can say that what Leah and I had was nothing versus what we have. Or had. 

“We were friends for years before we became what we are now. We knew the shittiest parts of each other and the best. We worked together to become what we were when we got engaged and we were … I thought we were stronger for it. Was I wrong?” 

Lovett swallowed and looked abashed. “I don’t know. We don’t even know what I was thinking when I left you, Jon. Maybe I had really valid reasons. The second time it was just… pain. I was so angry with you for lying and then you… you _missed her_. Do you even know how that felt? How that always felt? Never enough, I was never going to compare to her.” 

“Of course not,” Jon said and Lovett startled, looking like he’d been punched. “You are more, you dumbass. So much more.” 

Lovett made a face. “Did you really just say that?” 

Jon blurted out a laugh. Okay, so maybe that was cheesy. “I think I just did.” 

“You are the worst.” 

He shrugged, he wouldn’t fight it. “I still want to marry you, Jonathan Ira Lovett.” 

Lovett paused and in his hesitation it was about a hundred times worse than the first time. The first time he asked there was a long moment where Lovett drew it out, and the reason was just for effect. This time Jon had no idea what the answer would be. 

“Jon I---,” Lovett licked at his lips and for one horrifying moment he could swear he was about to say no. “Fuck. I want to marry you.” 

There was nothing like the feeling that spread in his chest. He felt his whole body go warm and he almost wondered if this was real. His face was split in two with a smile. “Really?” 

“Well, yeah,” Lovett said, smile small but there. “I mean, we’ve got shit to work on. A therapist might help but come on, I’ve loved you for over a decade. I’ve been mad at you, made worse by the fact I couldn’t rant at you about it.” 

Therapy could be good. Therapy could be great. He was okay with anything. He slipped across the couch and leaned forward, securing the first kiss in what could only be described as way too long. 

At their feet the dogs barked. He figured it was most likely confusion but he chose to pretend it was cheering.

**Author's Note:**

> We all make mistakes, no, we're not perfect yet  
> Maybe God made us all from an accident  
> And the question that sits on everyone's lips  
> Is why should we pick ourselves up and start over again  
> There's only one answer that matters  
> Even if your heart has been shattered  
> Whatever you want, whatever you are after  
> Love is still the answer
> 
> -Jason Mraz


End file.
